


The Letters

by sionnach_glic



Series: Spoons [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 02:57:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sionnach_glic/pseuds/sionnach_glic
Summary: Post 8x06. Gendry and Arya exchange letters while she's at sea. A sampling:Gendry,I debated over even writing this, and I feel like such a stupid girl doing it, but I guess I just will: I would have liked your arms around me that night too. But what if I’m never ready, Gendry? For new memories? What then? How will I know if I am?Tell me of Storm’s End. – AryaP.S. I’m not a lady so stop addressing your letters that way.P.S.S. And I’ll talk about cocks if Iwant.





	1. Farewell

**Author's Note:**

> The letters come in chapter 2. This story takes place after 8x06, but exists in the same universe as my other one-shot Spoons. I do recommend reading that story first. It's short. But you could probably wing this without it. We’re working within show canon here, minus what I do in Spoons, but it will borrow from the novels and easter eggs abound. :)

“Knee-git?” Gendry says, unsure, stumbling over the word he just traced on the parchment. It doesn't feel right inside his mouth.

 

“ _Night_ ,” Ser Davos corrects.

 

“Night?” He says, uncertain. "You're sure?"

 

"Aye", Davos says, smiling. 

 

Gendry holds out the parchment at arms length, squinting at it queerly. “Why in seven hells is there a _g_ in the word _night_?”

 

“Don’t know," Davos says with a shrug. "There just is.” Something wistful settles on his face. He frowns. “Or at least that’s what the person who taught me to read said.” He glances at him, pleased. “You’ve gotten much better.”

 

“Think so?” Gendry says, rubbing the back of his head. He's uncertain if the banners will agree.

 

Davos raises an eyebrow. “Two moons ago you couldn’t even read, let alone write. That maester of yours at Storm’s End has you learning faster than I did.”

 

Gendry sighs. "You've got more patience though." He glances at him sideways. “You’re _sure_ you want to remain here as the Master of Ships? I could use you.”

 

Davos leans back in his chair, his squirrelly eyebrows disapproving. 

 

Gendry groans, crossing his arms, knowing he's been found out.  

 

"You're stalling." Davos tells him plain. 

 

"I'm not," he lies.

 

Davos grins, amused. “Aye. You are. You're stalling.” 

 

“I’m not _stalling_ ,” Gendry says, tightening the cross of his arms, glancing away. “More like avoiding the inevitable.”

 

Davos shifts his gaze out the window at the sun, before turning back and giving him a fatherly look. “It’s getting late.”

 

“There’s time,” he says, glancing at the height of the sun in the sky, knowing that there’s not.

 

Davos' face grows grave. “Take it from an old man. Time is like catching a snake. It slips away from you faster than you think.”

 

The words remind Gendry of the phrases engraved on the sundials that littered the grounds of Storm’s End. The words on them were simple, which made them one of the first things Gendry had learned how to read.

 

They were clever too.

 

_"Today is yesterday’s tomorrow,"_ one promised. _"I only tell of sunny hours,"_ another jested. Some were simple in their poetry, with phrases that read, _"Let others tell of storms and showers, I only tell of sunny morning hours,"_ or _"Amidst the flowers I tell the hours."_ Others gave reassuring advice, like _"While we have time, let us do good,"_ or _"One hour will give what another has refused,"_ or _"Remember to live."_ There was even one that said, _"Now is the time to drink."_ That one sat in his barley fields. One of the largest sundials sat up on the battlements and read, _"Our last hour is hidden from us so that we watch them all."_

 

Maester Torrent had told him one of his ancestors had had an obsession with them, erecting them in gardens and courtyards, on balconies and wall walks. There was even one down at the end of the stone path that terminated in a small beach, but there was a sundial on his chambers' balcony with a phrase that he liked best. It held an invitation.

 

_Grow old along with me; the best is yet to be._

 

“You asked me where to find her,” he hears Davos frown.

 

"Aye." He snorts, miserable. "But that was when I didn't think your answer was going to be, _leaving, to go sail off the edge of the world_." 

 

When he'd learned she'd gotten some stupid idea to sail west he'd been furious. He could hardly look at her when he arrived in King's Landing. What was she thinking? She was a warrior, not some bloody sailor. But, he'd been a fool, thinking she'd finally come to him once she finished her list. She hadn't. She had remained in King's Landing after Daenerys' death, fretting over Jon - or so Davos had told him - and somewhere between finishing her list and Bran becoming King she'd decided to chart a bloody sailing trip west without even telling him. Gods, she was the most infuriating—

 

"She'll come back," Davos says, confident. 

 

He's not.

 

_Not if she dies out there,_ he wants to growl back and there were a million ways she could.

 

Davos rises, placing a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "But not if you don't hurry to those stables to give her something to come back to.” He squeezes his shoulder, leaving.

 

He sits there, stewing, glancing at the window. She was leaving, riding north, to take some fucking ship from Flint's Finger. Right now. And she hadn't even come to him to say goodbye. She was just going to leave without saying a damn word.

 

Yet Davos' earlier words about snakes have him thinking of the other dials, the ones that held grave warnings about the nature of time. " _It’s later than you think,"_ or _"One of these hours will be your last,"_ or _"Look at my shadow and you will see your life pass," or "Use the hour for it will not come again."_

 

And he was going to. He was going to use the fucking hour to say a damn word. 

 

***

It’s the pale one – white as milkglass that she’d found and rode out of King’s Landing – that she decides to ride north to take to the sea.

 

She reaches for the bridle on the wall, settling the bit in the palfrey’s mouth, frowning when the horse pulls back and away, snorting it’s disapproval.

 

Arya gives the mare a tired look. “So what? You’re just going to remain here then in this ruin of a city, where you can’t even trot?” She asks sarcastically. The mare’s eyes seem to shrug, saying, _depends. What's on offer here?_ Arya groans, leaning in to whisper. “Fine. If you’re good, I’ll let you gallop once we’re out the gates.”

 

Honestly, she’d let her gallop all the way to Flint’s Finger if that’s what it took to get away from this stupid city and all of the stupid memories that came with it.

 

_We have come to a dangerous place._

 

Her father could not have been more right.

 

The mare nudges her hand.

 

“The bit then,” Arya tells her, and the mare takes it this time as she passes the bridle over her head.

 

“You’re good with her,” a voice calls behind her. She turns.

 

He’s standing there, leaning a shoulder against the stall entrance, arms and ankles crossed, blue eyes fixed on her face. He’s different now, dressed in fine leathers, with a clean-shaven face and this growing air of confidence and authority about him.

 

She’s not sure how she feels about it.

 

_Yes you do,_ a voice chides.

 

She buries the thought down.

 

He seems to startle when he sees her face, the cross of his arms loosening. “What’s happened?” He asks at once.

 

No, _Hello_ or _How are you_ or _Let me explain why I haven’t spoken to you once since you’ve been here._

 

She suspects his answers would be the same as hers.

 

_I’m miserable_ and _I don’t know. I don't know why I’ve been avoiding you._

 

“We saw Jon off earlier,” she says, explaining away her streaked face. She nods her chin at him. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Seeing you off as well,” he answers. “Heard you’re becoming a sailor.” He doesn't sound pleased.

 

She presses her mouth into a tight line, then her eyes grow suspicious. “Who told you that?”

 

“Davos,” he replies. His face is severe. "But it should have been you."  

 

"Gendry—"

 

“Do you even know the first thing about ships, Arya?” He asks and even though the words are calm, she can tell that he's furious.

 

She snorts dryly, thinking of her time on the _Titan’s Daughter_. “More than you.”

 

He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he says, sourly, glancing away. “If you're in need of a first mate I’m a highly skilled rower," he mutters, bitterly.

 

She sighs heavily. “Gendry—”

 

“Relax, Arya,” he says, holding up his hands defensively. “It was a _jest_.” He presses off the wall, that edge of concern back in his voice. “But honest now, do you know how to set sails? Tie ropes? Make knots?” He gestures to her hands. “They’re going to be raw for weeks,” he warns.

 

“So? And?” She says, all brash and cavalier. “They’re already hideous.”

 

“Hideous?” He blurts, brows slammed.

 

She gives him a tired look. “I _told_ you how everyone says I have a smith’s hands.”

 

He snorts, glancing away, tightening the cross of his arms. “I think I’d know if you did.”

 

She stares at him critically as a sense memory comes of her hands on his neck, his back, the _sound_ he had made, the way his breath had hitched when she’d trailed them down the sides of his ribs and across his chest. He glances back at her and he must read her face because he blinks, startled.

 

He steps into the stall. “No! That’s not— I didn’t— I meant—” He heaves a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his head, staring at his feet. “This is coming out wrong.”

 

“It better be,” she mutters, crossing her arms.

 

He glances at her, contrite. “Can I try that again?”

 

She snorts. _Dryly_. “Please.”

 

He exhales forcefully. “I meant because I’m a smith, Arya. I would know because _I’m_ one.”

 

But a _different_ sense memory comes then, one of him and how his hands had felt on _her_.

 

She pushes it aside, about to point out that he’s not a smith anymore, that he’s a lord now _,_ but he cuts her off asking, almost shyly, “You remember what I told you then?"

 

"No," she lies.

 

He smiles, stepping closer. "Liar.” But he says the words anyway, his blue eyes flaring with some irritating hint of amusement and his stupid mouth struggling not to smirk pleased. “Those soft little things still couldn’t even hold a _hammer_.”

 

Gods, she doesn’t think she can cross her arms any tighter. He was so infuriating sometimes.

 

“Well they hold a _sword_ just _fine_ ,” she warns, “and if you don’t stop being stupid I’m going to skewer you with one.”

 

He ignores her burst of irritation entirely though, his face looking far too satisfied.

 

“I was thinking of that while I was watching you,” he tells her.

 

She snorts, glancing at him. “What? Me _skewering_ you?”

 

She’s waiting for some retort, but he seems to not have heard her. His gaze is traveling down the length of the stables, his face lost in some memory. “I was thinking this is where we first met,” he says.

 

But that’s not what she had been thinking. She had been thinking, _this is_ _where I killed that stable boy._ _This is where it began._

 

_You want to be like me?_ The Hound asks.

 

_Maybe I already was when you kidnapped me,_ she answers. _Maybe I always have been._

 

But then she’s suddenly distracted by other words Gendry had said.

 

_Watching me?_

 

Her belly does a sort of queer flip-flop. It seemed to do that all the time around him now. It happened when she first saw him atop that horse in Winterfell, and again when he’d agreed to make her that weapon. It happened later when he’d given it to her and then again when she’d decided to kiss him. And when he had kissed her goodbye and when she'd seen him walk into the dragonpit and then later when she had watched him leave, his mouth saying hardly a word to her, his back saying too many . . .  

 

She wishes that it would stop.

 

“Do you remember that day?” She hears him saying. There’s a fond smile in the words as he steps closer, giving the mare his knuckles to sniff. “I think Hot Pie near pissed himself, the way you pointed that sword at him and told him you liked killing fat boys.”

 

_That’s because I had already killed one._

 

But she does. She does remember. She remembers missing her father. She remembers crying herself to sleep the night before. She remembers hoping the others hadn’t seen. She remembers learning that day that Robb was still alive and stupidly thinking that he could protect her. She remembers hoping Yoren would take her home to Winterfell or, even better, to Jon at the Wall.

 

But she also remembers Gendry defending her.

 

She remembers thinking he had strong looking arms.

 

_And they’re even stronger now,_ a voice muses. _Remember how they held you—_

 

_Quiet,_ she hisses at it.

 

She regards him. “Did you believe me that day?” She asks, curious now. “When I told you I didn’t steal it?”

 

He grows a brazen smirk. “Not in seven hells. I was certain you had.” His eyes travel her body, feet to crown, her stomach fluttering. Gods, she wishes she could kick it to make it stop doing that. “You were a scrubby little thing then.”

 

_No, I was my still my father’s daughter then._

 

“But I’m not anymore,” she murmurs to herself. _You want to be like me?_

 

“No,” Gendry tells her, moving closer, his face suddenly serious. “You’re not.”

 

That pained look, the one he wears when he’s thinking too much about _something_ , is drawing in his brows and pinching at his deep blue eyes and twisting his mouth.

 

His mouth says quiet, serious words then. “Why are you going?”

 

But his eyes are asking something else: _what are you running from? Is it me?_

 

_Who are you?_ Jaqen’s voice asks in her head.

 

“I don’t know,” she whispers back in answer. Her list was gone, ended, complete. And she had felt no better for it. Instead she just felt empty. That hole inside her – the one that formed when her mother had died, the one where all of them used to live – still sat there, open and taunting, glaring.

 

He heaves a sigh. “You’re not going to find them out there, Arya,” he murmurs.

 

“I know that,” she snaps back, glaring at him.

 

Her pack was gone. Rickon and Robb, her father and mother . . . Even Bran wasn’t Bran anymore. And Sansa, and Jon . . . Sometimes she’d catch him just staring at nothing, a sad wistful look on his face at every turn and Sansa . . . She wore corsets now that she wielded like some sword.

 

_Don’t touch me,_ they seemed to always scream.

 

She squeezes her eyes closed, but it does nothing to help. All she sees is her father’s head rolling in the summer sun and Robb’s mutilated body bouncing on that horse among the fires at the Twins.

 

“I know that,” she says again, opening her eyes to find Gendry still rooted in place, unflappable, his blue eyes declining to yield.

 

That was the thing about him. She could glare and glare and he’d simply just . . .wait, watching her, with this unnerving amount of patience.

 

He says her name then, reaching for her hands, eyes searching as their fingers weave. The pained look has returned.

 

And she feels uncomfortable under his gaze, scrutinized, like she could choke on it, like no amount of lies or masks or truths could be hidden from it.

 

“I won’t ask you to stay,” he tells her as his gaze drops to their entwined hands. “But there are things to be found _here_ , Arya, if you do,” he murmurs, his gaze rising again, slowly meeting hers.

 

_Me. Us._ _This._ The gaze says.

 

_You want to be like me?_

_Who are you?_

 

_Arya Stark? Arya underfoot? Arya horseface? Arry? Weasel? Nan? Lumpyhead? The Ghost of Harrenhal? Mercy? Salty?_

_No one?_

_All of them?_

 

His thumbs are brushing against the back of her hands, calloused and solid, her belly answering.

 

“Gendry . . .” She says looking up at him. _Who are you?_ She needed an answer. She isn’t staying. He sees it on her face and then she sees it on his.

 

He breathes in deeply, nodding. But then he just . . . bulls ahead with words she’s not expecting.

 

“Do you remember the last time I saw you in Winterfell?” He asks. “What you said?”

 

Her mouth is oddly dry.

 

She feigns a sudden onset of amnesia. “I think I recall saying something about sticking with spoons for a while.”

 

He’s not buying it. “Not that part,” he tells her, stepping closer.

 

“Which then?” She says. Her voice sounds nothing like her own.

 

_Who are you?_

 

A subtle eyebrow rises on his face as a criminal smile grows across his mouth. “I believe you know exactly which part, milady.” He licks his lips, moving closer, the smile abruptly gone. She stares at his mouth. “The part about roads and castles,” he murmurs as his hands take her hips, his eyes searching. “Does that apply to seas as well?”

 

She looks up at him and somehow, she’s realizing, her hands have settled on his hips too. A cavernous silence grows.

 

_You want to be like me?_

 

_No,_ a voice answers as she stares into his eyes.

 

“It might,” she finally replies.

 

He draws her closer then, sliding those annoyingly strong arms around her waist, his hands traveling, settling on her back, an ache growing low in her belly.

 

He presses his forehead to hers, his mouth hovering, just out of reach. “Be safe,” he says, before his lips brush against hers, his mouth saying the same things it had said when he had kissed her goodbye in Winterfell. Her mouth answering back . . .

 

“You know,” he says, when they break apart, “I’ve been learning my letters . . .” His fingers reach, tucking her hair behind her ear, his eyes following them. He looks at her. “And ravens can find Storm’s End.”


	2. The Letters

  **Two moons pass. A raven arrives.**

>    
> 
> _To Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End,_
> 
> _Fine. You were right about my hands being raw. You wouldn’t think they’re soft little things now. I can finally hold a quill. Let’s see how your letters are. Have you mastered forks or still sticking with spoons? No new lands. How’s Storm’s End? – Arya Stark of Winterfell_

 

   

> _Milady,_
> 
> _Told you. While you may be able to hold a quill again, I remain doubtful that you could hold a hammer. I bet their still little things that are still softer than mine. Forks mastered. Spring is here, but it has brought rains and storms. It’s miserable. The stones are covered in werms wriggling out of the soil at daybrake. They made me think of you and that time you tried to get me to eat one. How are the seas? Stay safe. – Lord Gendry_

  

**The moon turns.**

 

> _Lord Gendry,_
> 
> _Boring! The seas are so boring! We passed Lonely Light four moons ago. I understand now why it has that name. Just small spits of land since. I’m starting to think that there’s nothing west. Just endless sea. Had storms the other night. Everyone was retching. Your letters are really good, Gendry. A correction: It’s spelled worms, not werms. A few others: they’re, not their and daybreak, not daybrake. _
> 
> _And I remember you eating a worm. Don’t act like you didn’t. Lommy and his stupid worm breath . . . And remember Hot Pie? Seven hells. He complained so much that day that I almost kicked him. Remember him asking if we could have smoked chickens as if we were going to find some somewhere? Anyway, I actually saw him again at the Inn moons and moons ago. He runs the kitchen now. Did you know that? It’s really good. Sorry it’s miserable there. – Arya Stark_

  

 

> _Milady,_
> 
> _Well don’t give up. Who knows what you may find. Maybe a whole knew land and you could name it. You’re good at naming things. And I remember that day well. It was the day I told you that I knew you were a girl. If I recall you called me an eunuch for that. Do you remember that? An eunuch, Arya. Gods, after I learned you were a lady, I was certain one of your brothers was going to show up and have my head on a spike. I was glad when they didn’t, but I knew you were sad that they hadn’t. _
> 
> _I never told you: I was sorry to here about what happened to your brother at The Twins. From everything I heard while I was in Winterfell he was a loyal and honorable man that would have been a great king. At least some justice was served with the end of House Frey._
> 
> _Hot Pie is still there? Do his breads actually look like wolves now? I’m going to have to go visit him, but first – floods have come. I’m riding out to help some of the villages rebuild. I’ll be unable to write for a little while. Stay safe. – Gendry_

**The moon turns and turns again.**  

 

> _Gendry,_
> 
> _I’m impressed you know how to spell eunuch, but I’m not apologizing for calling you one. You were being so stupid, going on and on about what was between my legs and I was desperate to escape the subject of the cock I didn’t have!_
> 
> _Only one correction: It’s new, not knew._
> 
> _Thank you for your words about Robb. He was all of those things, but it doesn’t matter about the Freys. Ending them didn’t bring him or my mother back. I guess I’ll tell you something now that not even Jon or Sansa know. Remember the night the Hound kidnapped me? He was trying to get me to the Twins, to Robb, for the ransom._
> 
> _I know the night my brother died has a name now, but I can’t seem to write those words. I have never even said them aloud. I witnessed that night and the words don’t do justice to the slaughter that happened there._
> 
> _The stories are all true. I watched as they took Greywind’s head and sewed it on to my brother’s corpse. How they pranced his mutilated body around the camp like it was some fucking doll. Men were screaming, Gendry. Screaming, like boys, for their mothers while the Lannisters slaughtered them, and all the while there was this fucking song playing as if we were all just at some merry feast . . . I wanted to kill all of them. I nearly tried. The Hound had to stop me._
> 
> _Sometimes I think about Sansa. How she was forced to sit there with the Lannisters knowing what they had done to Robb with that prick Joffrey taunting and tormenting her the entire fucking time. I would have tried to kill him in her shoes. I probably would have gotten killed instead. Still, I regret it wasn’t me that ended him._
> 
> _Sometimes I wonder if that’s what I’m doing out here. If I’m just trying to figure out a way to make the memories disappear. I don’t know that they ever will. Sometimes they just gallop down on me, all at once, like it’s still the day it happened even though it’s been years and years. Sometimes it’s feels so thick that I think I’m going to choke on it._
> 
> _Ghost was the worst. All I had to do was look at him sometimes and then I’d be hearing the sounds of that night and the awful yelps Greywind had made when they stabbed and stabbed him. He was looking at me, when they killed him, maybe hoping I could rescue him somehow. And then sometimes Ghost would howl, calling, still searching for Greywind and Lady and Summer and Shaggydog. He would sit sometimes for hours, Gendry, just waiting for an answer back. He seemed just as sad as me when none would ever come._
> 
> _I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. Sorry. I guess it’s because today is Robb’s name day and the Hound was the only other person who knew, but he’s gone now too so I can’t write to him about it and not that I would. And I guess I’m a craven too because I can’t seem to find the courage to tell Jon and Sansa. I don’t want to see their fallen faces or make them go back to that time. I don’t want to go back to that time, either. It hurts too much when I do. Like it does now. And Jon’s letters are already so wistful and forlorn and Sansa’s are just so abrupt and terse._
> 
> _Anyway, Hot Pie’s breads do actually resemble direwolves now and I know he’d be happy to see you. How are the villagers? Which did you visit?_
> 
> _Are you safe? – Arya_

  

 

> _Milady,_
> 
> _I visited three villages near Grassy Vale and four near Ashford. It was a terrible business. Some villagers had lost everything. Some already had nothing due to the war. They had this look, Arya, this blank stare. Reminded me of Harrenhal and that old woman’s face when she told us she had been made to watch as they had taken her family and killed them one by one. Reminds me of the way we looked days after that. So, I know, Arya, what you mean about the memories and how they barrel down on you without warning. That happens to me too. I’m glad you told me. There is nothing to be sorry for._
> 
> _We rebuilt a few huts and hovels and I left men there to build more as I had matters to attend to here, but it’s going to be a while until the villages are rebuilt. Worse, the lands are very marshy there. Some of the huts were already sinking into the ground when I left. We’ll have to find some solution for that. But the rains have ended and the flowers are blooming. It’s beautiful. Reminds me of you._
> 
> _Of course I remember the night the Hound took you. I ran out after you, calling your name. We spent the whole night looking for you and the next sennight, too. I was miserable without you then, and I’m miserable without you now._
> 
> _I think you should tell Jon and Sansa. Wouldn’t you want to know if one of them had been there? I know you, Arya and you would want to comfort them. I imagine they would like the opportunity to do the same for you. And I know you don’t like it, being comforted, but if I were there with you now I would be wrapping my arms around you and pulling you close. Then I’d kiss you on the mouth._
> 
> _I don’t know if being out there will make the memories disappear. I suspect that it won’t. I don’t know if they will ever go away. Mine don’t seem to. Maybe they’ve gotten a little less, over time. But I told you in King’s Landing and I’m reminding you now: there are things to be found here, Arya, when you’re ready – new memories, with me._
> 
> _Tell Jon I say hello and ask him if he’s done the Eastwatch run yet (he’ll know what that means). Have you found anything? Your last letter didn’t say._
> 
> _I’m safe. Are you? – Gendry_
> 
> _P.S. You’re getting a sailor’s mouth. A lady shouldn’t talk about cocks and pricks or use words like fucking._

**The moon turns thrice.**

 

> _Gendry,_
> 
> _We found Visenya’s island! We’ve spent a moon exploring and plan to sail on to Aegon and Rhaenys soon. There’s too much to write about what I’ve seen here, but my favorite was these birds. They’re small and black all over, like crows or ravens, but softer looking somehow._
> 
> _The mating dance they do is so strange, but also beautiful, in a way. The male begins by prancing around on the ground to get a female’s attention, singing this sort of clicking song. It’s ridiculous and humorous to watch. But when he finally has one, to really impress her – this is the beautiful part – he flutters and expands his feathers to twice his size to reveal he isn’t black underneath at all, but instead marked with this pretty sort of iridescent deep blue pattern. I wish you could see it. My words don’t do it justice. The color is very much like your eyes._
> 
> _If my hands weren’t hideous before they definitely are now, they’re so calloused. Made me think of you. Do you still work in the forge? What are you making?_
> 
> _I’m glad you’re safe. I’m sorry to hear about the villagers losing everything. Perhaps you should try what we do in the Neck and build the huts on stilts, raised high up above the floodplain. Jon told me what the run was. You really ran that far? Twenty miles? Davos had told me you went beyond the wall once with Jon, but he didn’t give details. (Jon wasn’t particularly forthcoming in his raven, either. What happened out there?). Gods, Gendry. You could have died. Jon also wanted me to tell you: there’s no snow at the Wall now, so it simply wouldn’t be fair for him to do the run and beat you. (But between you and me, I think he’s just making excuses.)_
> 
> _I think I’m glad I told you too. I’ve decided to take your advice. I’ll tell them when I return, but I don’t know when that will be._
> 
> _I debated over even writing this, and I feel like such a stupid girl doing it, but I guess I just will: I would have liked your arms around me that night too. But what if I’m never ready, Gendry? For new memories? What then? How will I know if I am?_
> 
> _Tell me of Storm’s End. – Arya_
> 
> _P.S. I’m not a lady so stop addressing your letters that way._
> 
> _P.S.S. And I’ll talk about cocks if I want._

  

**The moon turns new and full and new and full.**

 

> _Arya,_
> 
> _We tried your suggestion with the stilts in a village near Ashford. Seems to be a success. We’re going to implement it at the others. Thank you for that. I’m still in the forge. The people in the castle found it strange at first, but now I think they like seeing their lord talking and working among them. I must have won them over because they don’t even care that I’m sweaty and covered in soot half the time. I’ve been working on a longsword and also on re-forging valyrian steel. My old master, Master Mott died in the fire in King’s Landing, but I picked some of what he did up before he gave me to the Watch. They’re giving it a name now, you know, the fire. They’re calling it the Queens’ Scourging._
> 
> _Anyway, I’m not getting far with the valyrian steel and the only smiths that know that method now are far away, across the Narrow Sea, in Qohor. Maybe I’ll go there one day, but I’m beginning to like it here. I think you would too. There’s a small beach where I fish sometimes or pick oysters and the clifftops are these flat, wide-open spaces. I can get the steed I ride to go full tilt there. Your mare would like it there. Do you still have her? The keep can get drafty, but it’s formidable and sort of cozy when the fires are roaring. I even love the storms now. They roll in nearly every other afternoon (I’m told it’s always been that way in spring, but that it’s the autumn storms that earns Storm’s End its name)._
> 
> _One of my ancestors had an obsession with sundials, so they’re all over the grounds here. I keep trying to find them all. I’ve counted at least three and twenty. There’s one on the balcony in my chambers. They all have clever sayings that I think you would like, thinks like “I only tell of sunny hours,” and “Amidst the flowers I tell the hours,” and “Use the hour for it will not come again.” The one on my balcony is my favorite. It reads, “Grow old along with me. The best is yet to be.”_
> 
> _But the part I like most is the ocean at night. I sit out there on the balcony and watch the storms roll in sometimes and I keep the doors open most nights so that the smell of the water and the sounds of the waves breaking against the cliffs come through. It makes me think of you on your ship and lulls me to sleep. Do you ever catch the moon when it’s full on the water? Sometimes I just sit on the balcony staring at it late into the night, the way it’s beam just lays there on the water like that, glistening. But I like when the moon is new too, because then all the stars are bright._
> 
> _Did you draw them? The birds, I mean? Maybe you can show me when you return. What did you find on the other islands? Saw Hot Pie. You’re sending him letters too? He’s really happy about that. Don’t tell him, but I think he’s in love with a wench at the Inn. He was blushing like a maid every time he spoke her name._
> 
> _You hands have never been hideous. I love those hands. I think about them often._
> 
> _You already are ready, Arya. You’re making all sorts of new memories now. You’d simply be making some of them with me, together, with my arms around you each night. – Gendry_
> 
> _P.S. As milady commands._
> 
> _P.S.S. So you want to talk about cocks, then?_

**The moon turns once and then twice.**

 

> _Gendry,_
> 
> _I’m pleased to hear the stilts worked._
> 
> _Bran told me of the name. The Queens’ Scourging. It’s fitting. Both those women were mad and had a hand in destroying that city. What they did to all those innocent people . . . I see it some nights before I sleep, the same way I see Harrenhal and that night with Yoren and what the Lannisters did to Robb’s body. And of course I’ve seen the moon on water. I’m on a ship, stupid. But that’s what I do when I can’t seem to find sleep. I go up on deck, staring at the moon, sometimes for hours._
> 
> _You should write to Tyrion Lannister about valyrian steel and Bran too. Tyrion’s father melted down my father’s sword and made two. One was returned to Sansa, the one that the kingslayer had had, and Joffrey before him. Do you know what he called it? Widow’s Bane. Sometimes when I dream I go back to that day at the Sept of Baelor and I strangle his bloody throat. Anyway, when Tyrion spoke to Sansa about the sword, he apparently seemed to have been there for part of the re-forging so he may know a thing or two._
> 
> _I didn’t draw the birds, but one of our scouts has a hand with charcoal and did. I’ll show them to you, though they won’t have the blue so I guess you’ll just have to look in a mirror and imagine it. We didn’t stay on Rhaenys island. It was covered in snakes. We didn’t know before we rowed ashore (that made me think of you). One of our crew was bit and died. He died in moments, Gendry. It was awful. But we stayed on Aegon’s for over a moon mapping it. It’s much larger than the other two, mostly just beach, but there are these swirly rocks all over it too with these flaky shiny minerals in them. They remind me of the hot pools in Winterfell. We’ve just left the island and are now truly going beyond the beyond. I’m nervous, but excited too._
> 
> _Gods, I know all about Hot Pie’s wench. In his stupid letters he never shuts up about her, going on and on about her yellow hair and her smile and – seven hells – even the way she smells. He asked me for advice, once. What do I know of courting a wench? I told him that he’d be better served if he wrote to Sansa instead. It was a jest, but I swear to all the gods Gendry, he actually did! He wrote my sister! _
> 
> _It was my mistake. I thought he was like you, capable of interpreting jest in words, but I should have remembered that night Yoren died and we were running into battle. Everyone was shouting “For Yoren!” or “For Winterfell!” but there was Hot Pie, shouting, “Hot Pie!” Do you remember that? I’m laughing just thinking about it. So he missed my jest, but my sister wrote him back! The last letter I received he went on about how she’s the reason he’s courting her now. I guffawed at that. Then I made a face._
> 
> _It sounds like you really love Storm’s End. It sounds like I might like it there too._
> 
> _Maybe you’re right, that I am already making new memories, but I don’t feel ready, Gendry. I feel afraid. I know it sounds stupid and I honestly don’t know of what or why. But, I miss you and your annoyingly strong arms. (and I love your hands too.) – Arya_
> 
>  
> 
> _P.S. I’m not milady._
> 
> _P.S.S. What? No!_

 

 

> _Arya,_
> 
> _I’m glad you’re not on that island with the snakes. Are you being safe when you explore these new places? Knowing you, probably not._
> 
> _Gods, I remember Hot Pie shouting that. What did he tell us once while escaping Harrenhal? To hoot like an owl to let him know if it was safe and then he made the sound and it came out more like a chicken? But, that’s what makes Hot Pie, Hot Pie. I’m happy for him. I should go visit him again or have him to Storm’s End. He can bring his lady. You know it occurs to me, I don’t even know his true name. Do you? How did your sister address that letter? Dear Hot Pie, this is the Queen in the North with your courting advice? The thought would make me chuckle, but the banners are endlessly parading daughters before me to court and I’m endlessly sending them away. They’ve started to make their grievances with that known._
> 
> _Now that spring is here, we’ve had reports of raiders attacking Evenfall Hall and also Rain House and Wyl. Iron Born. I thought they had pledged to be done with all that. I sent a raven to Yara Greyjoy, but she said they aren’t hers, that a small group has splintered off. So I’m sailing out on the morrow with her to deal with Evenfall, and then riding for Rain House. I fear it will be some moons before I’m able to write to you._
> 
> _Thinking of that night at Harrenhal . . . I know, Arya, about the nightmares. I have them as well. They are what cause me to stare at the moon too some nights. And I know it’s why you said your list beside me each night. If it could take them from you, I would, but I don’t even know how to take them from myself. I suppose we’ll just have to learn how to live with them together._
> 
> _Do you know what I miss? The way that you always bite your lip when you’re nervous and I bet you were doing it when you wrote that bit about my arms. I miss the way that you scowl at me when you’re angry and the feel of your lips against mine. And to seven hells with it if I sound like Hot Pie. I miss the way you smell too, like sandalwood and rose._
> 
> _I’m afraid too, Arya, constantly, of losing you out there. I don’t care how long it takes. I will wait. Just be safe, wherever you are. – Gendry_
> 
> _P.S. No, but you’re my lady._
> 
> _P.S.S. Then let’s figure out together why you’re afraid._

 

 

> _To her Grace & Queen in the North, Sansa Stark,_
> 
> _Arya tells me you’ve offered courting advice to a mutual friend that proved a success. I require some as well. I’m in love with your sister. She’s too stubborn by half. Help. – Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End._

 

 **The moon turns a quarter.**  

 

> _To Lord Gendry Baratheon,_
> 
> _You do not require my aide in this matter. Her letters speak of little else but you. Arya is stubborn, Lord Gendry, as you well know, but she’s also not a fool. Simply be patient. – Sansa_

  

 **The moon turns five times.**  

 

> Gendry,
> 
> _Apparently my last raven never made it to you. Jon told me. I thought you had decided to stop writing and listened to your banners and taken a wife, deciding to ring some lord’s daughter’s bell. We’ve spotted land, so I must be quick. The raiders . . . are you safe? Are you well? Hot Pie’s true name is Wylis. I miss the way that you smell too. – Arya_
> 
> _P.S. Is that so?_
> 
> _P.S.S. Must we?_

 

 

> _Arya,_
> 
> _I’m well, though I took a spear to the leg in Wyl and was laid up for about a moon while there. Hurt like bloody hell. Are you well? Five moons. You’ll never know how worried I was. Gods, Arya. I was convinced I had lost you and that my words had somehow scared you off. And then I was convinced that you were lost out there or that you had died. Do you know what I did? I sent ravens to all of your family, telling them I was launching a search party. Jon wrote back with a raven in haste – and too many jests at my expense – telling me you were fine and that he had been receiving letters from you the whole time! I won’t hope to never be that worried about you again. I expect I likely will given you’re more stubborn than a mule._
> 
> _Finally spoke to Lord Tyrion about the valyrian steel. King Bran is touring the seven kingdoms and Tyrion came along, leaving Tarly in charge. They stopped here first. Tyrion had some ideas I plan to try._
> 
> _You’re one of the bravest people I know, but whatever you find on these lands, don’t do anything stupid. I’m serious, Arya. . . . For some reason I keep going back to that night we escaped Harrenhal. Remember how you woke me in the middle of the night looking for a sword and then we somehow ended up escaping the castle? Don’t do anything stupid and willful like that or like what you did when Robb died, running toward an open battle. There could be dangerous animals on these lands, but there may also be dangerous people, too._
> 
> _I haven’t been ringing any bells. – Gendry_
> 
> _P.S. It is milady. Very so._
> 
> _P.S.S. Yes. We must. You start._  

 

 **The moon turns.**  

 

> _Gendry,_
> 
> _Ugh, it was just a spit land. There wasn’t even any game on it, which was the only reason we stopped (our provisions are running low). So stop worrying. I haven’t perished and you have not lost me. I’m a person Gendry, not some . . . bloody tool in your forge. Is your leg alright? Does it still hurt? Can you walk? Turmeric root can help with any inflammation in the wound._
> 
> _And what do you mean stupid, anyway? I got us out of there, remember? I also remember it taking effort convincing you._
> 
> _If you want to rings bells you can. You can ring any bells you like. – Arya_
> 
> _P.S. Then I suppose I am and I’m sorry I worried you._
> 
> _P.S.S. I’m not starting. You’re the one that brought it up. You start._

 

 

> _Arya,_
> 
> _Your provisions are low? Again, the bit that I said about being stupid and not wanting to lose you? Don’t starve to death out there._
> 
> _Fine. You got us out of there. But you could have just as easily been killed. And you did the same thing when we met Lem and Anguy. I think you even threatened to kill them. Gods, Arya you’re too brave by half. What if they hadn’t been the Brotherhood? What if they had been someone else?_
> 
> _My leg is fine. You stop worrying._
> 
> _Saw Hot Pie again and met his lady. She’s very kind. He’s decided to head my kitchens. They’re getting wed, but I suppose you may already know that from his letters. He asked whether you and I had decided to stop being stupid yet and just agree to finally wed (his words, can you believe that?). I told him it would be better if he asked that question of you (mostly just to rile you - I can see your scowling face when you read this), but as that sundial says on the balcony, grow old along with me. The best is yet to be._
> 
> _There’s only one bell I want to be ringing and she’s been off at sea. – Gendry_
> 
> _P.S. I’m glad you’ve come to your senses._
> 
> _P.S.S. You’re the one that’s afraid, but fine. Is this about you not wanting to be the Lady of Storm’s End?_

  

 **The more turns once more.**  

 

> _Gendry,_
> 
> _Gods you’re such a stupid stubborn bull sometimes. I’m not starving to death or being stupid. And you haven’t lost me. Besides, we see land on the horizon, so I’m fine, Gendry. And why are you defending the brotherhood? They sold you to a red witch and did all sorts of awful things besides._
> 
> _Hot Pie hasn’t asked. Which is good because I’d skewer him if he did._
> 
> _You want to grow old with me?_
> 
> _Maybe, even though she finds you so infuriating sometimes, that woman at sea worries about losing you as well. And she might just want her bell rung by you too. – Arya_
> 
> _P.S. I never lost them._
> 
> _P.S.S. No. Yes. Maybe? I don’t know! Probably._

  

 

> _Arya,_
> 
> _You better not be starving. How much food do you have left? Things happened beyond the Wall between myself and Beric and Thoros that you don’t know about. And awful things? Like what? Making you put on that dress at Acorn Hall? Releasing the Hound? Seemed to me in Winterfell that you two were suddenly pals._
> 
> _Isn’t it obvious by now that I do?_
> 
> _Then come home and I’ll ring it. – Gendry._
> 
> _P.S. Good. I was worried you had._
> 
> _P.S.S. Just come home. I’m in love with you. We’ll figure it out. Together._

 

**Three moons pass.**

 

> _Gendry,_
> 
> _The land we saw turned out to be Lorath. Apparently we sailed the whole way west and back around to Essos. We went to the Wall after that and I coerced Jon into telling me the full story of what happened when you all went beyond it. It’s easy to fight the dead when they arrive at your home . . . but to go looking for them intentionally is something else. Jon said you argued with him until he agreed to take you. So either you’re stupider than me or braver._
> 
> _And don’t be stupid and jealous of the Hound. He became my friend._ _And_ _I remember Acorn Hall and that stupid dress, but I also remember what happened in that forge too. I’m in Winterfell now (you were right about telling Sansa and Jon) but I’ll be home soon and I’ve been thinking . . ._
> 
> _Maybe I’d like to grow old with you too and maybe balconies and bells go together. – Arya_
> 
> _P.S. Not when it comes to you._
> 
> _P.S.S. I’m in love with you, too. Alright, together._

  

>  
> 
> _Arya,_
> 
> _Coming home? As in here? Then I’ll be waiting for you in ours when you do. – Love, Gendry_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments are my muse.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Letters next.
> 
> Comments are my muse. :)


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